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extend farther than ever before. Kings and princes pay me tribute. My cities rise up out of the desert
and my roads gleam in the sun. The peoples of my realm are prosperous and honor me. And now
I’ve  even  subdued  the  leader  of  the  faith.  My  own  flesh  and  blood  will  occupy  the  seat  of  the
Prophet’s regent. I’ve achieved anything I’ve ever aspired to. I really am at the height of my power.
A scribe announced the commander of the bodyguards. The emir entered and performed
the required ceremonial, then spoke.
“Majesty! Halef, son of Omar, has returned from Alamut. He has a wound on his cheek. He
says  that  the  Ismaili  leader  had  him  tortured  to  find  out  your  intentions.  He  has  an  oral
message for you and he humbly requests that Your Majesty receive him.”
The sultan grew pale at first, and then furious.
“What? How dare he torture my messenger? What a vile, inhuman trick! But call Halef in.
Let’s hear what he hast to say about what he saw at the castle.”
The emir left and soon returned with Jafar.
The feday prostrated himself before the sultan.
“Get up, son of Omar!”
When the sultan saw Jafar’s face, he exclaimed, “How are you, Halef? But speak, speak!
Tell me how the murderer of the mountain received you. What message did he give you for
me?”
Everything  was  blurring  before  Jafar’s  eyes.  The  objects  around  him  were  assuming
monstrous shapes. The hashish had him fully in its power. “I have to carry out my order,” he
told himself. “The houris are waiting for me.”
He remembered what Halef had said about how to speak to the sultan.
“Majesty! Glory and joy of the realm!” he stammered. “I have been to Alamut. Their leader
attacked me …”
He felt for the dagger concealed in his sleeve. He let it drop down into his hand, took firm
hold of it by the handle, and with a supreme effort of will lunged straight at the sultan.
Instinctively the ruler drew back. He shook all over. An arm swung at him and a sharpened
writing  implement  scratched  him  behind  the  ear.  Jafar  raised  his  arm  again,  but  at  that
instant the emir’s sword split his head open.

---

The scribe shrieked.
“Be quiet!” the emir commanded him. He helped the sultan, colorless and still shaking all
over, to lie back down on his pillows.
“The man was obviously mad,” he said then. He bent down over the dead man and wiped
his bloody saber on his clothing.
“He was out of his mind,” the sultan observed, his voice shaking. “Everything that comes
from Alamut is either criminal or insane.”
At the scribe’s shriek several guards and courtiers had come into the hall. The sultan drew
one sleeve across his sweaty face, then discovered blood stains on it.
“What is this?”
Crazed fear showed in his eyes.
His scribe leapt to his side.
“His Majesty is bleeding! His Majesty is wounded!”
At this point the emir discovered the sharpened writing implement on the floor. He picked
it up and inspected it closely. He remembered the murder of the grand vizier and a shudder
coursed through his bones. He looked back at the dead man lying in a pool of blood in front
of  him.  The  blood  had  dissolved  the  glue  on  his  face.  The  emir  pulled  at  his  beard  and
mustache, which came off into his hand.
“This wasn’t Halef,” he whispered.
The sultan looked at him and understood. An indescribable horror seized at his heart. The
murdered vizier came to his mind, and it dawned on him that he would also have to die.
Everyone gathered around the corpse.
“No, this really wasn’t Halef,” they whispered.
They called the sultan’s personal physician. When he arrived, the emir whispered to him,
“I’m afraid he’s been wounded with a poisoned weapon. Work fast!”
The physician examined the sultan.
“It’s not a large wound,” he said, trying to comfort him. “But it’s a good idea to burn it out
in any case.”
“Are you sure it isn’t fatal?”
The sultan’s voice was as scared as a child’s.
“Let’s hope for the best,” the doctor replied.
He sent for his assistant, who brought him his equipment. Everything was ready quickly.
By then the emir had fully assessed the situation, and he gave an order.
“No one who is in the building may leave, and we will let no one in. We must all keep quiet
about everything that has happened here. I am assuming command.”
Guards carried the dead body out of the room. Servants quickly removed the bloodstains.
The doctor heated up a steel blade. As he brought it close to the sultan’s neck, the sultan
asked, “Will this hurt very much?”
“Your Majesty should drink several cups of wine. Then it will hurt less.”
A servant quickly brought it to him, and the sultan fell into a stupor.
The doctor touched the wound with the white-hot blade. The sultan howled in pain.
“Patience, Your Majesty,” the doctor pleaded.
“I’ll have your head if you keep torturing me like that.”
“As Your Majesty wishes. But the wound has to be burned out.”

---

The sultan gained control of himself. The doctor finished his work.
“That hurt a lot,” the sultan sighed. His face was waxen.
Servants carried him into his bedroom on a litter. The doctor offered him something to help
him  regain  his  strength,  then  he  ordered  the  curtains  drawn,  and  the  sultan  fell  asleep,
exhausted.
His entourage withdrew to an antechamber. From time to time the doctor checked in on his
patient. Each time he came back out, the worried eyes of those in attendance met him.
“It doesn’t look bad,” he said several times.
Then, suddenly, he came back looking panicked.
“His Majesty has a fever, a very high fever. He’s beginning to rave. I’m afraid the poison
has made its way into his circulatory system, despite everything.”
“Allah, what a disaster,” the emir said in a whisper.
The sultan began shouting out loud.
The emir and the doctor rushed into the bedroom. They threw the curtains aside, so that
some light shone into the room.
The sultan briefly regained consciousness.
“Save me! Save me!” he moaned. “It feels like I have burning coals running through my
veins!”
He  slipped  back  into  his  delirium.  Everyone  who  had  been  waiting  in  the  antechamber
surrounded his bed. They looked at each other, their faces pale.
The patient began to sing. Everyone present knelt down and touched their foreheads to the
floor.
“Terrible, terrible,” they murmured.
The sultan lifted himself up on his pillows. He looked around, confused, and tried to get up.
The doctor restrained him. He nodded for the others to leave.
In the antechamber, the emir said, “When he regains consciousness, we have to ask him
who he wants to succeed him. There’s still some time. Mohammed is barely four years old,
and there’s no way he can rule over the whole empire at a time like this.”
“Let’s wait a while longer,” an old courtier suggested.
The scribe warned, “It wouldn’t be good for the sultana and Taj al-Mulk to gain power.”
“But we mustn’t let the sultan see that we’re anticipating the worst,” one nobleman said.
“The fate of Iran hangs on it,” the emir replied grimly.
“We should bring his sister here. He doesn’t have any other relatives close by.”
“We’re not going to let anyone see him who isn’t already in this building,” the emir said
firmly.  “No  one  must  find  out  that  the  sultan  has  fallen  victim  to  an  Ismaili  dagger.  If  it
comes to the worst, we’ll announce that he died of a fever. Because if all of Iran finds out that
the sultan, like the grand vizier, has fallen victim to another killer from Alamut, then not only
will we all have to answer for it, but the people will be so terrified of these murderers that no
one will agree to fight them anymore.”
All that night until morning the sultan’s entourage kept watch over him. His fever steadily
rose. The emir tried in vain to raise the question of the succession. Eventually the sultan lost
consciousness  completely.  As  dawn  came,  his  death  throes  began  and  lasted  until  second
prayers.  Then  the  doctor  confirmed  that  his  heart  had  stopped  beating.  They  all  burst  out
crying in despair. Iran had lost its most powerful ruler.

---

Baghdad—thriving,  dynamic  Baghdad,  which  had  been  in  a  festive,  happy  mood  until  the
previous  day—suddenly  fell  silent  and  sank  into  mourning.  But  news  of  the  sultan’s  death
hadn’t yet reached the furthest outskirts of the city when the courtiers began fighting over the
successor to the throne. Express messengers galloped in all directions with the sad news. The
commander  of  the  bodyguard  sent  his  men  to  see  Barkiarok,  thinking  that  he  was  still
campaigning  on  the  border  with  India,  and  to  the  sons  of  the  murdered  grand  vizier.
Mohammed’s supporters sent their men to Isfahan, to see the sultan’s widow and Taj al-Mulk.
Obedient  princes  from  Syria  and  other  neighboring  provinces  who  had  just  gathered  in
Baghdad  to  honor  the  sultan  raced  home  at  breakneck  speed,  hoping  to  exploit  the
opportunity  to  shake  themselves  free  of  Iranian  rule.  The  caliph  himself,  who  had  just
decreed a half year’s mourning for the deceased, was secretly pleased at this turn of events.
Now he was free to choose a successor as he pleased, and once again he designated his first-
born son. The confidants of all the many kings, princes and grandees sent messengers to their
masters with the news.
In Baghdad the intrigues began on the very day of the sultan’s death. Suddenly supporters
of every possible pretender to the Iranian throne began to sprout up. Nearly each of the dead
sultan’s brothers and sons had his own advocate, all of whom immediately began agitating for
their respective candidates and pressuring the poor caliph to lend his support. But with time
it  became  apparent  that  there  were  really  only  two  opposing  camps:  Barkiarok’s  and
Mohammed’s.  Toward  the  end  the  sultan  had  been  leaning  toward  the  latter,  and  this  is
precisely why the sultana and Taj al-Mulk now had the advantage. All of the many princes
and grandees, high officials and religious leaders who had been overshadowed and hampered
by  the  murdered  grand  vizier’s  ruthless  and  imperious  rule  now  came  out  in  favor  of  the
underaged  Mohammed.  Soon  they  managed  to  win  the  caliph  to  their  side.  The  struggle
between  the  two  camps  grew  more  and  more  embittered.  Finally,  Barkiarok’s  supporters
began  to  feel  threatened  in  Baghdad.  Some  of  them  hid,  while  others  fled  the  city.
Mohammed’s supporters waited eagerly for news from the sultana and Taj al-Mulk. They kept
doing their utmost to pressure the weak caliph into proclaiming their candidate sultan, thus
dealing the other side a mortal blow.
Together with the news of the sultan’s death, the units that were gathering around Nehavend
and Hamadan and were meant to battle the Ismailis also received an order to abandon their
original  plan  and  set  out  for  Isfahan.  When  they  were  halfway  there,  they  were  met  by
emissaries of the sultan’s widow. The commanders were given extravagant gifts in her name,
and the men were promised double their usual pay if they agreed to support her son. Other
messengers set out for Baghdad with promises and priceless gifts to win the caliph to their
side so he would proclaim Mohammed as sultan and decree that all of Iran should pray the
khutba for him. In the meantime, Barkiarok arrived in Isfahan with part of his forces. He had
no idea yet that his father had been murdered in the same fashion as the grand vizier. He
came upon a scene of utter confusion. Soldiers were streaming into the city from all sides and
proclaiming the underaged Mohammed as sultan.
Barkiarok realized he had arrived several days too late. He tried to offer some resistance to
the sultan’s widow and her vizier. But just then the news hit from Baghdad that the caliph
had proclaimed Mohammed the new sultan. He quickly assembled the remainder of his forces

---

and  hurried  with  them  to  Sava,  where,  as  he  expected,  he  found  refuge  with  the  emir
Tekeshtegin, who had been his friend since earliest boyhood.
Now  he  had  to  establish  contact  with  his  supporters  and  all  those  elements  that  were
unhappy with the new sultan. Five of Nizam’s sons joined him, and he immediately named
one of them his vizier. Suddenly he was in command of a sizable army.
Amid  the  general  chaos  the  sultana  and  her  vizier  had  thought  of  everything,  with  one
exception—their erstwhile ally, Hasan. Emir Tekeshtegin and Muzaffar were good neighbors.
Barkiarok now worked through Muzaffar to establish contact with the leader of Alamut and
the Ismailis.

---

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE
With the Seljuk realm—until yesterday one of the most powerful empires on earth—now in
ruins, and with the sons, brothers, uncles and nephews of the murdered sultan battling each
other for the throne, and with no one anywhere in Iran quite clear who was in charge, the
institution  of  the  Ismailis  stood  as  firm  and  unshakable  as  the  rock  on  which  Alamut  was
built.
The  news  of  the  death  of  Sultan  Malik  Shah  was  cause  for  genuine  celebration  among
Hasan’s supporters. The lands from Rai, Rudbar and Qazvin to Firuz Kuh, Damagan and all
the way to Girdkuh and Gonbadan were now safe, and Ismaili messengers, and even whole
divisions,  could  practically  stroll  from  fortress  to  fortress.  A  new  wave  of  believers  came
streaming into Alamut, seeing it as the best guarantee of their religious freedom and well-
being. The fortress itself soon became too small for them. Dai Abu Soraka chose the strongest
and most capable of them to keep at the castle. He had the rest swear their allegiance, gave
them gifts, and—pledging that they would be fully protected by the supreme leader—he let
them return to their homes. After nearly a century, practically the whole north of Iran was at
last free to venerate Ali in public and to recognize the caliph of Cairo as its spiritual leader.
Hasan’s network of informants was built to an even greater level of perfection than before.
He was constantly receiving news about the struggles and battles for the Iranian throne. He
learned that the caliph had proclaimed Mohammed as the new sultan and that Barkiarok had
returned to Isfahan. He gained a precise sense of how the pillars of Seljuk rule, which he had
undermined, were swaying. The dream of his distant youth had been fulfilled.
“All of this is like a fairy tale,” he said to himself. “If I myself weren’t the cause of all these
convulsions, I wouldn’t believe them. It’s true, some wishes have a miraculous power. They
function as though they had substance, as though they were a hammer made of actual steel.”
He was conscious of a strange emptiness, as though everything around him had fallen silent
all at once. Something huge, terrible and yet beautiful had left him and found its place in the
sun outside of him. He felt homesick for his strong, restless days. Now the moment had come
for him to inspect his edifice one more time, distinguish it from everything that surrounded it,
define the limits of its power, and ensure its survival for that time when he was no longer.
And  just  as  he  had  half  a  year  ago,  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  reis  Abul  Fazel  Lumbani
arrived at the castle from Rai with an important message. He reported that the emir of Sava,
Tekeshtegin, had taken Barkiarok in and put all his forces at his disposal. He wanted to use
Rai,  the  old  capital  of  Iran,  to  proclaim  him  sultan,  so  he  asked  Muzaffar  for  help  and
support. Muzaffar advised him to consult with Hasan first and get his approval. And for that
purpose he, Abul Fazel, had come to Alamut. As soon as he was proclaimed sultan, Barkiarok
would set out with his whole army for Isfahan and depose Mohammed.
Both of the grand dais, Manuchehr and Abul Fazel Lumbani, met with the supreme leader
in council.
“This  is  a  moment  of  crucial  importance,”  Hasan  said.  “The  caliph  and  almost  all  the

---

generals and their forces have sworn allegiance to Mohammed. We mustn’t deceive ourselves.
If  the  sultana’s  faction  were  to  win,  then  we  Ismailis  would  be  the  first  of  Taj  al-Mulk’s
targets. Like any new ruler, he’s going to try to get rid of the shield-bearers who helped him
to power—and that’s us. He’s already proven to us that that’s the kind of man he is. Barkiarok
will also try to shake us off as soon as he doesn’t need us anymore. But we have to prevent
that  from  the  very  outset.  So  our  watchword  should  be:  no  ruler  must  ever  again  attain
unlimited  power  in  Iran!  I  think  that  for  now  we  can  afford  to  help  Barkiarok  overthrow
Mohammed.  Let  Tekeshtegin  proclaim  him  sultan  in  Rai.  When  he  moves  against  Isfahan,
we’ll cover his back. But as the saying goes, let us strike while the iron is hot. Barkiarok has
to  give  us  a  written  commitment  that  if  he’s  successful,  he  will  not  attack  our  castles  or
persecute our followers anywhere in the country. And just so he’s very clear about the extent
of our power, we’re going to demand a yearly tax from him for our support. The time has
come when rulers and potentates have to know that their lives are in our hands.”
None  of  the  leaders  contradicted  him  or  had  any  comments  to  make.  They  composed  a
letter to Barkiarok, listing their conditions.
After that, the conversation turned to more pleasant things. A jug of wine passed from hand
to hand. Suddenly Hasan turned to reis Lumbani and asked him, smiling, “What came of that
cure for my madness, after all? Have you still not brought it along with you?”
Abul Fazel scratched behind his ear.
“You  know,  ibn  Sabbah,”  he  replied,  “I’ve  gotten  old,  and  I’m  no  longer  amazed  by
anything  in  the  world.  I’ve  seen  that  something  I  thought  was  wise  seven  years  ago  has
turned out to be stupid, and that apparent madness has proven to be the highest wisdom.
There’s nothing I understand anymore, so I’ve given up making judgments. I’ve served my
time.”
Hasan laughed again for the first time in ages.
“My dear reis, my dear reis!” he said. “Now you see what brittle legs were supporting the
edifice you once thought had been built to last an eternity. All it took was a handful of men
whom I could trust unconditionally, and I was able to cut down the Seljuk oak. Let me ask
you:  is  there  any  other  ruler  or  religious  dignitary,  prophet  or  wise  man,  any  kingdom  or
institution that we here at Alamut ought to be afraid of?”
“No, there’s none, ibn Sabbah. Because your living daggers can reach anyone who crosses
you. With weapons like that, who would want to be your enemy?”
“There are such people, dear friend. But the time will come when even princes on the far
side of the world will live in fear of our power. And then we’ll collect tribute from all the
emperors, kings and potentates beyond the seas.”
Abul Fazel only shook his head.
“I believe you, because I have to believe. But I don’t understand. How are you able to find
youths who are so willing to sacrifice their lives at your command?”
“It’s because they know that death will immediately transport them to a place of heavenly
delights.”
“Surely you don’t expect me to believe in your fairy tales about paradise?”
Hasan winked at him playfully.
“Would you like to convince yourself with your own senses that it exists?”
“Allah forbid I should be so curious!” he exclaimed. “Because you’re capable of anything,

---

and if you finally did convince me that your paradise exists, I’d probably attack some sultan
or vizier with a dagger, even despite these old bones and this gray beard.”
The leaders all laughed heartily.
The next morning Abul Fazel left Alamut, heavily laden with gifts and sitting comfortably
on a camel’s back.
A week hadn’t yet passed when a messenger brought Hasan a letter from Barkiarok, in which
he consented to the conditions. And lo and behold, Tekeshtegin proclaimed Barkiarok sultan
in Rai. At that point both of them planned to move against Isfahan with their army, but Taj
al-Mulk  and  his  forces  had  already  launched  an  assault  against  Sava.  At  Barugjir,  between
Hamadan  and  Harb,  the  armies  collided.  Taj  al-Mulk  was  defeated.  He  was  captured,  and
Barkiarok ordered him beheaded. Now the road to Isfahan was clear. He arrived outside the
city at the beginning of the year one thousand and ninety three. Hasan, the second-born of
the murdered grand vizier, arrived from Khorasan with his forces and joined him. Barkiarok
appointed him to be his secretary. They welcomed a swelling tide of deserters from the camp
of  the  sultan’s  widow.  Finally  she  had  to  negotiate  with  him  and  sue  for  peace.  He  even
defeated and beheaded his uncle, Ismail ibn Yakuti, the regent of Azerbaijan who had sold
out  to  Turkan  Khatun.  But  he  had  barely  done  that  when  Ismail’s  half-brother,  Tutush  of
Damascus, rebelled against him. Tutush attacked Antioch and joined forces with the regent of
Aleppo, Aksonkor. He occupied Mosul and demanded that the terrified caliph proclaim him
sultan.
All  of  the  outlying  provinces  of  Iran  were  suddenly  ablaze  with  rebellion.  One  after  the
other, the subjugated kings and princes proclaimed their sovereignty. Even the regents threw
off  the  central  authority  of  Isfahan,  seeking  complete  independence.  The  conflicts  between
individual authorities worsened. An indescribable chaos that no one had experienced before
came to dominate Iran. The poor caliph had to proclaim first one man sultan, then another,
depending  on  the  proximity  and  military  might  of  a  given  pretender  to  the  throne.  Thus,
there were months in Baghdad when the khutba had to be prayed for several sultans in a row.
This was the moment for Hasan to issue his final decree and to put the final touches on his
edifice.
He assembled the leaders of all his fortresses at Alamut and invited his friends and adherents
from far and wide.
It was a splendid winter day. Snow hadn’t yet fallen, except on the highest mountains. The
chill air was dry and crisp. But as the sun rose over the peaks, it grew pleasantly warmer.
Very early, while it was still pitch dark, the drums had sounded, rousing the men from their
sleep. Everyone—soldiers, fedayeen, the faithful and the leaders—dressed in their ceremonial
clothes.  Word  went  around  that  important  and  far-reaching  events  would  take  place  at
Alamut that very day.
After the first prayer, the leaders and their guests assembled in the great hall. They took
their places all around the hall on divans covered with pillows.
Hasan entered with the two grand dais. He was garbed in his white cloak, which reached
down to his feet. A splendid white turban covered his head. The leaders and guests all rose.

---

They bowed to him. He went from one person to the next, politely greeting each one. When
he  got  to  Muzaffar,  he  asked,  “How  are  my  daughters  doing?  Are  they  diligent?  Are  they
earning their bread?”
Muzaffar proceeded to praise them lavishly.
“Fine,”  Hasan  said.  “As  long  as  they  make  themselves  useful  somehow.  Should  worthy
suitors appear, marry them off.”
Muzaffar promised to do so.
Then  he  caught  sight  of  reis  Abul  Fazel.  He  couldn’t  suppress  a  smile  and  greeted  him
heartily.
“It’s a pleasure to see you so often,” he said. “How would you feel about staying here at
Alamut? I could appoint you keeper of my gardens. There are plenty of beautiful houris in
them.”
“No, no,” the former reis declined. “Anyway, it won’t be long before I’m knocking at the
gates of the real paradise.”
Hasan laughed. Once he had welcomed everyone, he invited all present to be seated. Then
he spoke.
“Ismaili friends and leaders! I have invited you here today to talk in clear and unambiguous
terms about the essence and goals of our institution. Everything we have undertaken since
gaining  control  of  this  castle  has  turned  out  successfully—a  sign  that  we  have  laid  a  solid
foundation. We have tested and proven our strength in battle. Despite the unity and precision
of  our  efforts,  there  are  still  some  things  that  remain  unclear,  particularly  concerning  our
relations  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  However,  this  is  quite  understandable.  For  the  ultimate
success of any action is always dependent on its original conception and all those foreseen
and unforeseeable factors that impinge on its realization. When we seized this fortified castle
from the late sultan, we pointed to the caliph of Egypt as having given us the authority to do
so. That was an indispensable necessity, because at that point our prestige was so minimal—
or rather, let’s say, nonexistent. But times have changed significantly since then. Our worst
enemies  are  dead.  The  mighty  Seljuk  realm  is  in  ruins.  Egypt  is  far  away.  And  we  have
developed  and  grown  into  a  force  of  iron.  We  have  educated  and  trained  a  phalanx  of
believers, the likes of which no other ruler has known. Their fanaticism is legendary. Their
determination  is  unequalled.  Their  devotion  is  unprecedented.  What  is  Cairo  to  them?
Nothing. And what is Alamut? Everything.
“Men! I am old, yet there is still much to be done. Our doctrine must be elaborated to the
last detail and written down for those yet to come. It must be specially adapted for each of
the  eight  grades.  Today  I  will  make  my  last  appearance  to  the  faithful.  After  that  I  will
withdraw to my tower for good. I would welcome any suggestions about what I’ve just told
you.”
His eyes sought out Abu Ali. The grand dai stood up and spoke.
“Supreme leader, Ismaili leaders and friends, I recommend that we break all ties with Cairo
and proclaim our complete independence. By doing this, we will on the one hand show the
whole world that we’re confident of our power. On the other hand, this will help us win over
many of those good Iranians who would have liked to join us but have been put off by our
allegiance to Cairo.”
The Ismaili leaders enthusiastically welcomed this proposal. Muzaffar, however, exchanged

---

a startled glance with Abul Fazel and remarked, “By Allah! Have you given any thought to
the  response  of  our  many  followers  who  believe  that  the  caliph  of  Egypt  is  the  true
descendant of Ali and Fatima? All of them will turn away from Alamut.”
“Don’t worry, Muzaffar,” Buzurg Ummid countered. “Those followers aren’t much use to us.
The ones our power depends on recognize just one battle cry: Alamut!”
“The power of our institution doesn’t depend on the number of followers we have,” Hasan
explained, “but rather their quality. And it doesn’t depend on the extent of our holdings, but
rather on our fortified castles. And we are the complete masters of those. A split with Cairo
would signal our real birth. It would allow us to cut the umbilical cord and free ourselves
completely from our mother’s body.”
Muzaffar  relented.  Then  Abu  Ali  proposed  that  they  solemnly  proclaim  Hasan  as  the
founder  and  supreme  leader  of  the  new  regime,  which  would  continue  to  have  its  seat  at
Alamut. The proposal was adopted unanimously. They composed a formal document in which
they  proclaimed  the  complete  independence  of  the  Ismaili  realm  and  named  Hasan  as  its
leader. Everyone present signed it.
Hasan rose. He thanked them for their confidence in him and named Abu Ali and Buzurg
Ummid  as  his  deputies  and  successors.  He  entrusted  internal  control  to  the  former  and
external control to the latter.
“So,” Hasan began, “now we have clarified the relationship between ourselves and the rest
of the world. We still need to think about how to increase and extend our power. Because any
institution that intends to stay vital and tough can never rest. It has to remain constantly in
motion and flux to preserve its agility. I know of many fine castles which are now in foreign
hands but which could serve us as important footholds if we appropriated them. You’re all
familiar with the fortress of Lamasar. Truly a strong, solid bastion. But the garrison that’s in it
now is weak and tired of the monotony of fortress life. Buzurg Ummid, you will take as many
men as you need to seize the castle. You’re to attack it without delay. Abdul Malik, with your
courage  and  youth,  you  are  to  set  out  with  a  force  of  our  best  warriors  and  attack  the
magnificent castle of Shahdiz outside of Isfahan, which the sultan built practically to order
for us before he died. You must take the castle. This way we will have any future ruler of Iran
in our hands. Abu Ali, I have saved the most difficult but also the most glorious task for you.
You are from Syria. There is an impregnable fortress there, Masyaf, a second Alamut, as you
yourself have told me. Take as many soldiers and fedayeen as you need. With things in Iran
as unstable as they are now, you should be able to fight your way there. Remember, Masyaf
must fall into your hands. I want you to establish a school for fedayeen there on the model of
Alamut. You will control it as you see fit, keeping me constantly informed of your initiatives.
Ibn  Atash,  I  am  appointing  you  grand  dai.  You  are  to  return  to  Khuzestan  and  take  back
command of Gonbadan. You will fortify the city of Girdkuh. Seize all of the fortresses in the
region. If you should need a feday for any particular task, I will send you one … All of you
dais  who  command  individual  forts  are  to  be  promoted  from  this  day  forward  to  regional
dais. You will report directly to the grand dai whose seat is closest to you. This takes care of
the  external  aspect  of  the  hierarchy.  Once  you  return  to  your  castles,  you  will  receive  its
internal structure in the form of a set of regulations, once those are completed. Now go join
the  men.  Abu  Ali,  you  will  explain  the  action  we’ve  taken  here  and  announce  my  arrival.
Today they’ll see me for the last time.”

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The  Ismailis  cheered  enthusiastically  at  the  news  that  Alamut  had  become  a  sovereign
state. Abu Ali promised them new military campaigns and new victories. They whooped with
joy and battle fervor. They all felt that the fortress of Alamut had long since gotten too small
for them.
The  supreme  leader  appeared  on  the  upper  terrace.  A  hush  descended.  In  a  voice  that
reached all the way down to the last horseman on the lower terrace, he proclaimed, “Faithful
Ismailis! My grand dai has just announced the decisions that our council of leaders adopted
today. We have truly grown powerful. But this power of ours depends completely on you and
all of us being obedient. You carry out the orders of your immediate superiors, and they carry
out my orders. I, in turn, remain obedient to the direction of the All-Highest who sent me
here. Directly or indirectly, all of us fulfill His commands. Now go back to your duties, and
quit waiting for the Mahdi. Because al-Mahdi has come!”
He didn’t wait for the cheering to subside. He withdrew with the leaders to the assembly
hall  and  bade  each  of  them  farewell  there.  Then  he  and  the  grand  dais  withdrew  to  his
chambers.
“So,  now  the  fifth  and  final  chapter  of  our  tragedy  is  over,”  he  said  with  an  almost
melancholy smile. “There’s no one left over us, except for Allah and the unknown heavens.
But we know incredibly little about either of them. So we might as well close the book of
unsolved riddles once and for all.
“I’ve  had  enough  of  the  world  for  the  time  being.  While  I  wait  in  this  retreat  for  the
solution to the final riddle, I can’t think of a better way to occupy my time than by filling in
the  last  details  of  the  fairy  tales  for  our  faithful  children.  It’s  fitting  for  an  old  man  who
knows the world to reveal it to the people in the form of tales and parables. There’s so much
work still ahead of me! For the simplest believers I have to invent a thousand and one tales
about the origins and beginning of the world, heaven and hell, the prophets, Mohammed, Ali
and the Mahdi. The second grade, the fighting faithful, will need more than anything a clear
rule book giving them all the commandments and prohibitions. I’ll have to embed the fairy
tales into basic principles and provide them with a whole catechism. For the fedayeen I will
have to reveal the first great Ismaili mysteries: the Koran is a complicated book and requires a
special key to interpret it. Still higher up, those who advance to the level of dais will learn
that  even  the  Koran  doesn’t  contain  the  ultimate  mysteries,  and  that  those  are  equally
distributed among all the different faiths. Those worthy enough to become regional dais will
learn the awful supreme Ismaili principle: that nothing is true, and everything is permitted.
But  those  of  us  who  hold  all  the  threads  of  this  mechanism  in  our  hands  will  save  our
ultimate thoughts for ourselves.”
“What a pity that you plan to shut yourself off from the world!” Buzurg Ummid exclaimed.
“Now, of all times, when you’ve reached the zenith of your life’s path.”
“A man who fulfills a great mission only really comes to life once he’s dead. Especially a
prophet. I’ve fulfilled mine and now it’s time to start thinking of myself. I’m going to die to
other people so that I can come to life for myself. This way I’ll be able to see what will endure
after me. Do you understand?”
They nodded.
“But  if  you  were  to  ask  me  what  the  purpose  of  all  this  has  been  and  why  it’s  been

---

necessary, I wouldn’t be able to answer you,” he continued. “We just grow because there’s
strength in us to do that. Like a seed that germinates in the earth and shoots up out of the
ground, that blooms and bears fruit. Suddenly we’re here, and suddenly we’ll be gone.”
“Let’s go have a last look at the gardens!” he at last invited them.
They entered the lift and descended to the base of the tower. A eunuch lowered the bridge
and Adi ferried them over to the central garden.
The  deciduous  trees  were  bare  and  the  flower  beds  were  deserted.  There  was  no  fresh
greenery, no flowers. Only a cypress grove darkly withstood the winter.
“If you sent somebody to the gardens now,” Abu Ali said, “he’d have a hard time believing
he was in paradise.”
“The world consists of color, light and warmth,” Hasan replied. “They are the food for our
senses. A ray of light on the landscape, and it’s completely transformed in our eyes! With its
transformation our feelings, thoughts and moods are also transformed. This, you see, is the
eternally self-renewing miracle of all life.”
Apama joined them.
“How are the girls doing?” Hasan asked.
“They talk a lot, and they work a lot, they laugh a lot and they even cry a lot. They just
don’t think very much.”
“That’s for the best. Otherwise they might realize they’re in prison. It can’t be helped. You
women are used to harems and prison. A person can spend his whole life between four walls.
If he doesn’t think or feel that he’s a prisoner, then he’s not a prisoner. But then there are
people for whom the whole planet is a prison, who see the infinite expanse of the universe,
the  millions  of  stars  and  galaxies  that  remain  forever  inaccessible  to  them.  And  that
awareness makes them the greatest prisoners of time and space.”
They walked silently down the deserted paths.
“Is there anything new here?”
“No, except that we’re expecting a few babies.”
“That’s fine. We’ll need them. Make sure that everything goes well.”
Then he turned to his grand dais and said, “Those will be the only creatures in the world
who  were  conceived  by  their  fathers  in  the  firm  belief  that  their  mothers  were  heavenly
maidens, unearthly beings.”
They walked around the pond.
“Spring will come again, and then summer after it,” Hasan continued. “Stay as warm as you
can through the winter, so you can experience the luxury of nature renewing itself again in
the gardens. And we should withdraw to our chambers too, because the sky has clouded over
ominously and it might even snow tomorrow. It’s going to get colder.”
When they returned to the castle, Hasan bade his grand dais farewell with these words:
“The earth has barely made half a circuit around the sun, just half of one of the hundreds
and hundreds of thousands it has made until now. And yet we can say that a fair amount has
changed on its surface in that time. The empire of Iran no longer exists. Our institution has
emerged from the night. What course will it take from here? We call for an answer in vain.
The stars above us are silent.”
For  the  last  time  he  embraced  both  of  his  friends.  Then  he  entered  the  lift.  They  felt  a
strange sadness as they watched him ascend.

---

He locked himself inside his chambers and died to the world.
And legend enfolded him in its wings.

---

A
FTERWORD

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A
GAINST
I
DEOLOGIES
:
V
LADIMIR
B
ARTOL AND